


liar, liar, short pants on fire

by kuro49



Category: DCU, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Bottom Jason Todd, Deepthroating, Episode Tag: s01e06 Jason Todd, M/M, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 02:17:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16714657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: Jason takes Machiavelli's words to heart, sort of.





	liar, liar, short pants on fire

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry but what the fuck is the ridiculousness that is curran walters’ mouth. also if you haven't seen [this on his IG story](https://www.instagram.com/p/BqdYBa0AFA5/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet).

 

Dick tries to be severe with Jason.

But Dick thinks the lesson here is his to learn when he is backed up against the ceiling to floor glass windows of Bruce's Chicago safehouse with Jason on his knees in front of him while Dr. Adamson is knocked out cold and cuffed barely two rooms away from where they are. Dick tries for stern in the downturn of his mouth but it feels pretty ineffectual when Jason has his eyes half closed while he palms himself through his jeans, thighs spread wide in his kneel, button undone and zipper dragged all the way down.

"Officer." Jason says with every ounce of Robin-ness injected into that single word, head tilting back to bare the column of his throat to Dick.

"It's detective actually." Dick tells him on a thick swallow, watches the wet spot of Jason's underwear grow while the kid just continues to look at him with some kind of expectation bright in those eyes.

"Whatever you say, bro." Jason presses his hand harder over his erection still trapped inside of his pants, the whine of his voice magnified on that last word, throaty and low but loud while he continues, tongue in cheek to say. "You're the boss here."

"Don't be so mouthy." Dick reaches out, tentative until his fingertips brush the dark curls of Jason's bangs and then he is curling a hand into the messy wave of hair.

"Nobody's complained before."

On that, Jason's mouth falls open on a bob of his Adam's apple and Dick's eyes traces over that motion with heated intent.

 

Like Jason tells him, in the long elevator ride up, the whole point is being Robin.

Two briefcases sit side by side.

The Robin name shed all the way down to their ankles while Jason wraps his lips around him and sinks down in one go.

It leaves no room for him to adjust but it seems like that's what Jason wants. 

It is over the top and the tighthot _soft_ sensation of Jason's mouth wrapped around his cock has him thumping his head back against the glass because oh, _fuck_. Dick lets out a groan that Jason thoroughly appreciates from the way the kid barely even lets up before he is swallowing around the heavy weight filling his mouth, his throat clenching around the head of his cock. He draws back an inch, spit and precum smearing across the seam of his lips, against Dick's length to drip down Jason's chin.

The enthusiasm Jason displays is directly proportional to the guilt Dick is working through but Jason has no intention of letting him dwell on that either.

"Not good enough for you?" Jason asks as he pulls off, face flushed pink, mouth wet and red, bottom lip plush and jutting out in a perpetual pout that doesn't add a single year to his actual age.

And Dick really has no idea how he is supposed to reply to that when he still has the kid on his knees, the head of his cock barely inches from Jason's cheek that was hollowed out just moments before. Dick scrubs a hand down his face, breathes out noisily to cover up all the wrong thoughts running through his head, and settles for more or less the truth.

"You're actually too good at this." As soon as it comes out of his mouth, Dick knows it is an awful thing to compliment anyone on. He hasn't been Robin for years in Gotham not to know what goes on inside the bowels of her streets. "I mean—"

Jason cuts him off with a laugh, the sound startlingly soft.

"Let me show you what else I can do."

Jason's eyes are crinkled in the corners and Dick can't help it when he notices the faint hints of fading bruises that the concealer applied doesn't entirely hide. Dick reaches out, rubs the pad of his thumb under Jason's eye before Jason is straightening up and drawing that too into his mouth.

 

He keeps the grey tee and the yellow hoodie on, everything else is in a pile on the ground next to the couch.

"From one Robin to another," Jason tells him, voice entirely too steady for someone who has both hands wrapped around Dick's cock, grip tight, palms slick with every jerk. "I'd just like to say that I've always wanted to do this."

Splayed across the length of the sofa, Dick can either close his eyes to all this or keep up. "Do what exactly?"

"Do you." Jason says, a matter of fact, taking back one hand to reach around to work one then two fingers inside of himself in quick succession.

Dick can see the slick shiny on the inside of Jason's thighs as the kid is kneeling up and over him on both knees. Every heavy breath Jason lets out on a shudder seems to wrack through his entire body, from the base of his spine to the sway of his hair as he pushes another finger in on a drawn out moan.

Dick pushes up on an elbow, leans in and sinks his teeth against Jason's jaw, drags his tongue over the sting before biting down again, hard enough this time around to leave an imprint of his teeth against his skin. It is like as though it isn't enough to have the kid in his Robin colours, he wants to mark him up in bright red love bites and bruises that fade into an ugly green and yellow too.

And when Jason only whines into it instead of pulling away, Dick sits up, shame flushing his skin to draw them that much closer. He waits for Jason to turn his head, kisses him full on his lips when he does before drawing back to nip at the shell of his ear until the kid is impatiently replacing his own fingers to press the blunt head of Dick's cock against himself.

His mouth tastes cool and bitter, like the brew still dripping condensation on the coffee table.

And when Jason finally sinks down, achingly slow, it isn't about taking revenge against Bruce, or so Dick keeps trying to start a mantra in his head while his hands go to touch and touch and touch like he can leech all of the heat from underneath Jason's skin for himself.

 

Jason cuts around corners, goes straight for the heart of the lie with something close enough to the truth when he tells him he wants this and he wants him and none of it has to mean anything bad unless he wants it like that too.

"The only cops I've ever known are either dirty or useless." Jason pants out to him like now is really the time for this discussion while he is fucking himself down on Dick. "You're different," he rises up on his knees with Dick's fingertips fitting so carefully into the bone of his hips, "y-you're neither."

This, Dick can actually believe, far easier than anything he's been told so far.

Jason isn't here because Bruce is okay with it, probably far from it, and it is the exact same as the not-answer he gets when he asked about the Batmobile. It is not all parts of the truth but close enough when the two of them has been lying to one another all day long. Dick feels mean (and hurt and angry and a whole litany of emotions involved with coming to terms with being replaced), and this is probably just as wrong when he grunts into a particular brutal thrust that leaves the kid blinking back a dazed look in his eyes.

"You're not all bad when you're like this, _detective_." Jason continues on a murmur, teeth sinking down on his bottom lip to stifle a keen when Dick is hitting just the right spot. "Y-you don't look so much like B."  His mouth still curls into a vicious little thing when he reaches out with a thumb and rubs at the spot between Dick's brows. "You look like you could be happy."

Because of everything to expect, this really isn't it. The furrow between his brows ease as Dick bites back a startled laugh.

Dick doesn't give himself the chance to respond, he tips Jason back into the plush of the sofa cushions, carries that momentum into fucking any more of Jason's words into mindless noises with a renewed kind of determination.

 

Jason isn't kind enough, or brave enough. But maybe this is a conversation they could have when they are older and there isn't a chasm between them.

"You hate what you've become when you're Robin." Jason starts, severity in his voice when he is lying on top of Dick, his heart beat against his. "I don't."

"Not yet." Dick answers with some certainty, arms wrapped around the kid. Because when he looks Jason in the eyes, he sees a repeat of history.

Stepping out of Bruce’s shadow, Dick finds himself soaked in violence, almost reveling in it. If this is a comparison that needs to be made, Dick Grayson is willing to be it. If Batman is the puppeteer and Robin is the puppet he is carving out of wood, then Dick Grayson is the real boy wonder that survived the whole process. When he looks into a mirror, he doesn’t see himself. Dick has long since come to the realization that he hasn't known what he looks like in a very long time.

(And here is another conversation where the boy from the circus learns to hate the truth.

“You must lie a lot,” Rachel says to him on the roof of Dawn and Hank's place, calm and settled in her resignation of being abandoned for another time in her life, “you’re good at it.”

The worst thing is not how deep that cuts, not when the only thought running through his head is that _this_ is what would make Bruce proud.)

Dick is not proud of the violence he knows by heart. This is him trying to right his wrongs, but Jason knows that there are far worse things in this world even when each end of Robin's staff cracks as it comes down, every twist of his wrist is to the sounds of bones breaking.

"I'd rather be a weapon than a victim." Jason admits to him, and that is final too.

 

They are so far off course when Jason's shirt is rucked up to his chest while Dick is trying to figure out a way to pull out without leaving more of a mess between them.

“Huh," Jason says with a blink of his eyes, half-lidded and dark in the afterglow and Dick has no idea how he is only noticing the faint roots of red in the kid's hair now. "So this is what that guy meant.”

“What?”

“Benefits ought to be handed out drop by drop, so that they may be relished the more.” Jason recites, word for word, mouth curling into the widest grin when he swipes a finger against the splatter of white on his stomach and holds it out to Dick like a whole new invitation.

Dick considers the full weight of those words, pausing to glance up at the painting hanging right there on the wall behind them before looking back down at the second Robin. There is something to adding salt to injury here when, "that is not at all what Machiavelli meant."

"Way to point out the obvious." Jason's laugh is sharp, mouth quirking up at both corners, and Dick should have anticipated this too but it is still a sucker punch of _want_ when Jason wraps his lips around his finger and licks the cum right off. "But you should've seen your face, bro."

Dick hates that he likes how the kid seems to be a surprise at every corner even when he can be just as predictable.

Because when Dick leans down, Jason opens up to the kiss with a lovely groan.

 


End file.
